Just Death, Kind Umpire Of Men's Miseries.

Love, Whose Month Is Ever May, Spied A Blossom Passing Fair, Playing In The Wanton Air: Through The Velvet Leaves The Wind, All Unseen Can Passage Find; That The Lover, Sick To Death, Wish'd Himself The Heaven's Breath.

All Of Creation’s A Farce. Man Was Born As A Joke. In His Head His Reason Is Buffeted Like Wind-blown Smoke. Life Is A Game. Everyone Ridicules Everyone Else. But He Who Has The Last Laugh Laughs Longest.

For Thou Hast Given Me In This Beauteous Face A World Of Earthly Blessings To My Soul, If Sympathy Of Love Unite Our Thoughts.

Death Makes No Conquest Of This Conqueror: For Now He Lives In Fame, Though Not In Life.

Unhappy That I Am, I Cannot Heave My Heart Into My Mouth.